Instant Backstory

Instant Backstory

by Pan

"Gimme some head," my housemate grunted, and I immediately nodded and fell to my knees in front of him.

I should explain - I have a rare nutritional deficiency, and the easiest (and cheapest) way to get the specific proteins that I need is to swallow cum. Wouldn't be a problem if I had a boyfriend, but I've been single for a few years now, so that makes it a little harder.

There are pills you can take, of course, but...well, you know how American healthcare is.

Fortunately, my housemate Tom is a real stand-up guy. As soon as he heard about my needs, we struck a deal: he'd let me swallow his cum once every few days, which is what my body needs, in exchange for two conditions: I had to be the one to get it out of him, and I'd do it whenever he was in the mood, no questions asked.

So now, Tom just says the word and I'm kneeling in front of him, wrapping my lips around his erection. He's not exactly the most hygienic man, so the taste (and smell!) can be a bit unpleasant, but it's not like I can afford to be picky.

Tom groaned, shooting a thick load of semen into my mouth, I swallowed, and my body tingled as I absorbed the nutrients. It's a great feeling - one that lets me know that I'm making healthy decisions.

"Thanks," I said, standing up and smiling at him. "You're a real lifesaver."

He shrugged. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

I didn't quite understand what that meant, but before I could ask, he had another helpful thing to say:

"Dress like a French Maid tonight."

Okay, that probably sounds weird out of context, but here's the thing: I'm an aspiring actress. I'm a total unknown right now, and I really need to some roles to build up my resume.

Tom's been helping with that, too. A great actress needs to be quick, flexible, and willing to do anything - so almost every night, he'll come up with a new role for me to play, and it's my job to get into character as quickly and professionally as possible.

Like tonight: he'd obviously decided that my European acting needed a little work. I wasn't going to do the accent or even behave differently, but by purchasing and wearing a French Maid outfit, I'd be practicing my craft, building my skills, and getting better at quickly sourcing whatever I needed to nail a role.

"Great idea," I said with a broad smile. He chuckled and walked off, shaking his head.

I pulled out my phone and started googling the nearest place I could buy a French Maid costume. There was a store just a few blocks away (Tom and I shared an apartment in Manhattan) and within an hour, I was back home, dressed like a French Maid.

Tom gave me an approving look as soon as he saw me, then reached out and grabbing one of my tits.

Look, here's the thing: Tom's really short-sighted. Not all the time, but in certain lighting and times of day, he just really struggles to see who he's talking to. So yeah, when he needs to confirm that it's me... I mean, what better way to do it? I'm sure there are dozens of people who primarily think of me as 'the one with the big tits': Tom just did it with his hands, instead of just his memory.

I didn't say a word as he squeezed one of my tits (the outfit I was wearing really highlighted my cleavage) and then moved to the other. Then he reached behind me, grasping my ass with both hands (he must've really not known who I was) before pulling me in for a kiss.

Now, I know what you're thinking - why would you kiss your housemate? Well, there's a very simple explanation for that.

Kissing, you see, serves a specific purpose in humans. We all think of it as a romantic or sexual gesture, but there's a biological reason we do it.

When two people swap saliva, it communicates things on a chemical level, stuff that we could never say with words. Did you know that ants

exclusively

communicate by swapping chemicals?

So when we'd learned about that, of course we wanted to try it. Tom and I aren't exactly close - we're just housemates - but why would I want anything other than the best possible communication with my housemate, or anyone in my life?

Okay, sure, I didn't do it with anyone but Tom, but that was because of society's weird stigma around it. But it was a great way for us to non-verbally check in, make sure we were on the same page, all that kind of thing.

After about fifteen minutes of making out - and repeatedly running his hands across my body, to confirm it was me - Tom reached his hand between my legs, and crudely shoved two fingers inside me.

Get your mind out of the gutter! It's just that I have an awful memory, and...god, this is embarrassing. For the life of me, I can never remember if I have an IUD or not. I really should write it down, but instead, one day I asked Tom if he could 'check' for me, and even though he told me once he had, I still can't remember.

So every now and again, Tom will check again. I want him to be thorough, of course - I know he'll stop if he finds it, but it can take him a while to truly be sure that it's not in there. Or

is

there? I just can't keep it in my had.

And look, while he's doing that, sometimes I cum. Not because I'm into Tom or anything like that, to be clear: it's just a natural response to someone sliding two fingers inside you.

It doesn't help that his thumb sometimes brushes against my clit. You won't find the IUD, Tom! Not that I ever complain. After all, he's the one doing a favor for me.

So it wasn't long before I was shaking and quivering with orgasm, as my housemate roughly fingered me. With anyone else, I probably would've been shy about cumming so long and so loud in front of them, but...I mean, it was just Tom.

"I wanna spank you," he growled, as I tried to catch my breath.

Within a few seconds, I was on Tom's knees while his hand rained down on my bare buttocks (I hadn't worn any underwear beneath the French Maid outfit) again and again, and I yelped in pain.

Anyone watching might have thought we were doing something kinky, or even that one of us was devising sexual pleasure from the activity. I want to be clear, nothing could have been further from the truth: I don't think of Tom like that, and he definitely doesn't think of me in that way. We're just housemates.

But I've always had this smoking problem. I've never smoked a cigarette, to be clear...but I

want

to. I'm addicted to a substance that I've never even tried - it sounds ridiculous, but it's true!

So Tom agreed to help me overcome my smoking problem by spanking me. Whenever I was about to think about nicotine, he had full permission to pull me across his knees and spank the addictive thought out of me.

I don't even know how he knew I was going to think about cigarettes soon, but he did!

By the time he was done, my ass was bright red, and throbbing with pain... and, sure enough, I didn't want a cigarette.

"Thanks, Tom," I said, looking over my shoulder and smiling at him. He was looking down at me with an odd expression on his face.

"Call me 'sir'," he said, and I nodded immediately.

"Yes, sir."

Look, that probably sounds pretty kinky out of context, but you have to know: Tom has gender dysphoria. He was born a man, he identifies as a man, but sometimes he needs to really feel

seen

as a man, y'know?

So stuff like having me call him"sir": every little bit helps.

"Make me a steak for dinner tonight," he instructed, and I nodded.

"Yes, sir."

I've always loved cooking, and tiny New York apartments don't allow for hosting dinner parties, like I used to do back home. Tom knew about how much I loved making and serving other people food, and so he'd generously offered to let me cook for him whenever he wanted.

He helps me out so much, I appreciate the bejeezus out of him.

An hour later, Tom was sitting on the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand, and a sirloin steak in front of him. He smiled and nodded his thanks to me, before eating a big, juicy bite.

The best part was the smile on his face when he was finished.

"That was great," he said, and I preened at the compliment. "Let's go to your room and fuck."

Now, that might make it sound like we have a sexual relationship: I want to be completely clear, we don't. Tom's like a brother to me.

But you know how scabs will heal over after enough time?

This is going to sound stupid, but I have this weird, specific phobia that my vagina is going to do that.

I know, I know - that's not how it works. I know it's irrational, but the thought plagues me.

Fortunately for me, I have the world's most amazing housemate: after learning about my fear, he came up with an ingenious solution: sex.

By regularly putting his cock into my slit, it'll confirm to me that it hasn't healed up. Not that it would, but this way I can feel

sure

.

"Of course, sir," I said, nodding and smiling at him.

A few seconds later, he was naked in the middle of my bed, lying on his back, and - still dressed as a French Maid - I was climbing onto him. I was just about to lower myself onto him when he held up a finger.

"Ass," he said simply, and I nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Right. So you know how yoga does a great job of having you stretch muscles that you don't normally use? I've never done it, but I hear that it just makes you feel amazing, like your entire body is more limber and able to do whatever you want it to.

Well, one day I realized that even the best yoga teacher isn't stretching out one of your most important muscles, the sphincter. And so Tom, bless him, will sometimes help me stretch out my anus, so that it always feels limber and ready to take on whatever the world offers.

So instead of lowering my pussy onto his erection, I quickly applied some lube, and then lifted myself a little higher, pressing the tip of Tom's erection against the tight, puckered ring of my asshole.

I closed my eyes, Tom's hand on my waist, and started to slowly ease myself onto his length. It took a few minutes, and I had to pause more than a few times, but eventually I was able to sink all the way down onto him.

"Fuck," he grunted, looking down at where our bodies joined. I don't normally like that kind of language - my father is a pastor, back in Idaho - but I understand that when you move to the city, you can't force everyone to live by

your

values.

It wasn't long until I was rocking back and forth, gasping at the feeling of fullness, of a cock deep inside me. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was moaning loudly, and - well, okay, Tom is a man, and I'm a straight woman. I mean, it was only natural that I would end up having an orgasm, right?

It's not a sexual thing.

Before long, Tom was grunting and cumming into my ass, and I felt warm, tingling satisfaction wash over me.

Yeah, it felt amazing. I was feeling so stretched out, in the best possible way.

"Lick me clean," my housemate said.

"As you wish, sir," I said, quickly sliding off him, turning and lowering my head to his cock.

He was still covered in his cum, and I happily lapped at his length, cleaning it of our fluids.

Oh, yeah: I can be a bit of a germaphobe. It comes up at the strangest times - like I don't mind that Tom doesn't shower that often, or that he can be messy around the apartment. But going to sleep with a dirty dick? All because he did me a favor by taking my ass?

No, that would have bugged the hell out of me. Fortunately, Tom knew me better than I know myself, and so he was - as usual - ahead of the problem. I appreciated him so much.

I wasn't sure if he'd want to go straight to sleep when I was done (sometimes we share a bed - just to save on heating, y'know?) but instead he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through porn. That kind of behavior used to bother me - I'm a virgin, except for Tom - but again, it's not my place to judge.

He stopped on a particularly filthy video - it had two women, and they were licking each other's asses (not my thing - any part of it) and told me to watch it with him.

I did, of course. Tom knows that I'm a little sheltered, so I've asked that if he sees something that I wouldn't have experienced, he shows it to me. I just don't want to be that naive country girl who is shocked the first time she encounters something new, y'know?

As we sat there and watched the analingus (see, that's the kind of word I wouldn't have known without this kind of exposure), Tom's hands freely roamed my body. My blanket must have fallen to the floor, and the French Maid outfit wasn't exactly built for comfort. He was just keeping me warm.

Before long, I could feel his erection growing. It was a little uncomfortable (we have a purely platonic relationship, after all). Then he looked over at me, and said, "Blowjob."

"Right away, sir," I replied, immediately moving into position between his legs and taking his hardening length into my mouth. As he slid in and out of my mouth, it wasn't long until I felt his warm, thick semen filling up my throat, and I eagerly swallowed every drop, Tom watching his phone all the while.

Oh, that probably seems strange. Let me explain: I have a severely overdeveloped gag reflex. Sometimes I struggle to even eat with a spoon!

Tom, clever man that he is, came up with a perfect solution. So now, I suck his cock whenever he asks me to - it's sort of like exposure therapy. After all, if I can take an entire dick (and swallow his cum!) then normal food won't be a problem.

It's such a good idea. I'm so lucky to have such a great housemate.